Intimacy
by hell-whim
Summary: Zuko breaks their routine with a question. Maiko, missing scene


**Summary:** Zuko breaks their routine with a question. Maiko, missing scene

**Notes:** Perhaps a slight warning for implied consensual sex between teenagers? Set between "Nightmares and Daydreams" and "The Day of Black Sun".

**Intimacy**

For the first and last time, Zuko breaks their routine.

On every other night they've spent together, he is content simply to watch her rise, slip into a robe, and disappear behind the curtain separating her bedroom and the washroom. He always has his own parts to play, of course: arranging the flattened pillows, gathering the discarded blankets, and running a hand through his mussed hair to settle it. Then he lies back, sheet pulled modestly to his middle, hands folded on top, and waits for her to emerge, settle shyly back onto the bed, slide between his arms, and then they fall asleep.

But this night, as they're almost to the end of it—washroom, blankets, folded hands—as Mai is just slipping the robe from her shoulders, he alters the pattern and asks a question.

"What do you do in there?"

Mai freezes, the robe only halfway down her arms, bare shoulders almost glowing in the moonlight. He's tempted to reach out and does, but Mai whips the blankets around and slides quickly beneath, eyes focused on her moving hands.

"What kind of question is that?" she asks indignantly. He twists on his side to face her, considering, head resting on his fist.

"Well, I mean, every time after we..."

She laughs at his expression.

"_You know_, after we..."

One delicate eyebrow disappears beneath her bangs.

"So you can perform the act," she says lightly, "but can't say it?"

"You don't say it either!"

Her tone slides up past snooty, face folding around a trained sneer.

"A lady does not use such language."

She scoots over, against his chest, arm snaking up around his shoulders.

"Anyway, don't worry what I do," she says. "It's girl stuff."

He frowns, looking down at her, his free hand threading through her soft hair.

"Do you _have_ to?"

She frowns back.

"Zuko, why are you asking?"

"I don't know," he sighs, and his fingers run a soothing line behind her ear. "I just—I don't like that you get up every time. You didn't the first time we...were together."

"That was a mistake," Mai says firmly. "And we were lucky that nothing happened."

"What's the worse that could—?"

With a curious look, she rises, gently dislodging his touch. She sits up, pulling the sheet along, covering her bare chest as though moments ago his fingers hadn't danced across every inch of exposed skin.

"Don't tell me no one's told you where babies come from."

"I _know_," he says, wincing at both the memory and its players. "I just mean that it doesn't matter. It wouldn't change anything between us."

She touches his cheek, just below the scar, and smiles.

"That's a nice thing to say, but we both know it's not true."

"Okay, so we'd have to get married," he says with an earnest shrug, "instead of just dating."

"You wouldn't marry me, Zuko."

It's his turn to be indignant—he sits up and shoves himself back against the headboard.

"You don't know that!"

"I _mean_, you wouldn't be allowed to marry me."

He crosses his arms.

"I'm sixteen—I've reached my majority—I can do whatever I want."

"No, Zuko," Mai says gently. "You can't."

She's being honest, not cruel, but it hurts anyway. Her hand still hangs in the air, tracing the line of where his face had been.

"Please, let's not talk about it anymore. Okay?"

"Okay," he says, and they slide back together. Zuko lies back, and Mai curls around him, leg hooked over his, arms around his middle, head cradled on his shoulder.

He watches the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets as her breathing evens out. The moonlight has shifted—it illuminates the vast expanse of her hair, spread against her back in shiny black rivulets.

"Zuko, stop worrying about it. Let's just enjoy what we have, right now."

"I'm sorry I got so upset. It's just—I love you."

Her eyes snap up to him, mouth open, and he tightens his embrace.

"Don't say it back," he begs, and she pushes herself up on both hands. "Not yet. I don't want you to say it back just because I did. I don't want to _think_ you said it only because I did."

She says nothing. Her eyes swim in shadows, unreadable, as the moonlight makes a halo of her loose hair.

"Everything in my life is so...confusing right now. The things I've done, things I've said, Azula, my father—you are the only thing I'm sure of anymore. And I love you."

He can hear his own desperation as he cups her face, thumb running over her cheek.

"Please believe me. Say that you believe me. Please. Just say it."

And then he scoffs, at himself, rolling out of her arms and away.

"Because _ordering_ you," he says bitterly. "That'll make it true."

She remains silent, and still, for a long time. Zuko presses his face into the pillow and curses inwardly at his stupidity.

"Zuko."

"Just forget it," he mutters. "Good night."

"Zuko."

Her hand on his shoulder is warm, and she gently pulls him back, waiting patiently until he opens his eyes and meets her steady gaze.

"I believe you," she says.

She leans down and kisses him firmly, and when she speaks, her lips brush against his.

"I believe you."

He is transfixed by her sincerity, unable to look away, as each kiss becomes more frantic and her whispers faster, more persistent.

"I believe you. I _believe_ you."

For a moment, he thinks she truly does.


End file.
